


Catch Me As I Fall

by boltschick2612



Series: Shattered [10]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Los Angeles Kings, M/M, POV First Person, Tampa Bay Lightning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boltschick2612/pseuds/boltschick2612
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vincent knows he has to let go of Brad, but he doesn't want to let go of Simon in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch Me As I Fall

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned earlier in the series, this all takes place during the 2012 Stanley Cup Playoffs, which Simon wasn't playing in due to a concussion and Vince wasn't playing in because the Lightning missed the playoffs. Takes place about a week after "You're The One That Cries When You're Alone". Written in first person from Vince's POV. Thanks to everyone that's been reading this all along, and I hope it's an ending you all are happy with. Title from "Whisper" by Evanescence. Story not true.

I don't think I've ever taken in the beauty of a sunrise. Sure, I've been up some days before the sun. You don't get as far as I have without a fair share of early mornings, but those days were always occupied with practice. I've never stood and watched the way the sun plays over the world as it rises, my mind and body still. There's an amazing tranquility to standing in the quiet kitchen of my summer home, leaning against the cold stone counter top, and watching the way the bright orange embers of sunlight creep across the floor. The way the light streams in through the windows, it really makes the house feel less empty, makes me feel less alone, even with someone else here.  
  
Feeling the way the sun's rays warm my skin and calm my mind, I can't help but think how those same rays of light, beautiful and breathtaking, are calling to me. They're leading me towards the surface of the dark abyss that has been holding me for far too long. It feels as if I've been trapped underwater, trying to escape the crushing weight of the water all around me.  
  
The pressure that surrounded me was a vice around my chest, stealing the air from my lungs, leaving me fighting for breath with each passing second. I've been so far down, it's pitch black and I couldn't see the sun to know which way was up. I spent every second of every day swimming sideways, or further down, everywhere but towards the surface.  
  
Now, I can finally see the sunlight streaming through the water, signaling the way to the surface. All I need to do is break free. I'm not quite strong enough to escape the dark, oppressing hold of the water all around me, but I'm getting there.  
  
My slow exodus from darkness started with the talk I had with Simon about a week ago. It made me realize I wasn't alone, and I wasn't the only one suffering. It broke my heart to see all the things he had been holding back, all the things he had hidden in an effort to appear strong and be there for me. As painful as his words might have been at the time, I think getting it all out was healing, for the both of us.  
  
There were other things, little things, serving to pull me from the crushing depths. Perhaps things anyone else wouldn't even notice, or dismiss as trite if they did. Things like coffee, or more precisely, the routine of preparing it.  
  
We had seamlessly slipped into a comfortable morning ritual, one that neither of us acknowledged, and we certainly didn't fight it. Simon would wake before me, every morning without fail. I'm still not sure what compelled him to do so, given that the necessity for it didn't exist, but I guess old habits are hard to break. Regardless, he would always be the first one up, and the first one in the kitchen. The loud bangs of the cabinet doors closing as he got out the coffee maker were usually enough to wake me. I'd crawl out of bed with sleep still in my eyes and shuffle towards the kitchen, watching Simon from afar as he effortlessly glided about, pulling things from the selves to make our breakfast.  
  
He would wait until I was seated across from him at one of the barstools, glancing at him from across the marble island, to start the coffee. I would pretend to not be watching his every movement, but we both knew I was. I'd stare intently as if the act of him scooping coffee grounds into a filter was the most interesting thing I had ever seen. After a few seconds, I'd break the silence with the same thing I had said the morning before, and the one before that.  
  
"Make it strong."  
  
Some days my voice cracked, drenched with sleep, and some days it was smooth and clear. The words, however, were always the same.  
  
No matter how many times he had heard me say those words, his reaction was always the same as well. He would look up from what he was doing, and lock his intense gaze with mine. He'd then let the silence hang in the air for one, two, three seconds before letting a smug smile pull at corner of his lips and giving his reply through a breathy laugh.  
  
 _"Bien sûr."_  
  
We both knew it was just coffee, but at the same time, it was so much more. It was a sense of normalcy, and a feeling of being needed. I guess part of me never realized how important it all was, not until the routine was broken.  
  
I woke this morning before sunrise, the result of a nightmare I now barely remember. I guess I should be thankful, in a way, the nightmares seem to be happening less and less. I tried to fall back asleep and wait for the usual sounds streaming from the kitchen, but I was restless, and sleep was nearly impossible. That seems like so long ago now, it seems like years I've been standing here, watching the sunrise and waiting for Simon to wake up. All thoughts of coffee and sunrises vanish when I hear the sound of shuffling footsteps coming from behind me, and I have to hold back a smile over Simon's appearance.  
  
  
His dark hair is hopelessly disheveled, yet still perfect. He looks completely at home in flannel pajama pants and one of my old, faded t-shirts. If I had to be honest, he looks just as good now, standing in my kitchen with a slightly surprised look playing on his features, as I've ever seen him looking in a suit and tie.  
  
He slowly shuffles towards the cabinets, yawning into his fist as he no doubt tries to clear the sleep from his brain. I slowly move to take my usual seat, sitting at one of the barstools in front of the marble island, as he searches the cabinet selves for the large tin of coffee. Even half asleep, he still moves with a serene fluidity, the kind I'm used to seeing as he glides across the ice. He waits until he's standing across from me, the marble island separating us, to acknowledge the wrinkle in our routine.  
  
"You're up early. Everything fine?"  
  
He doesn't look up as he speaks, only continues to scoop the coffee into the filter and wait for my response.  
  
"Yes...I mean...yes." I stammer, and mumble, trying to decide what to tell him. I mean, the truth is everything isn't fine, and it probably never will be, but that's also not what he meant. He wanted to know why I was up earlier than usual, and it seemed like a better idea to wearily mumble in the affirmative than to try and describe a fleeting nightmare, both literally and figuratively.  
  
He stops what he's doing and looks up, raising an eyebrow in an inquisitive expression, incredulity playing on his features. We stare at each other across the small space, and after a few seconds, I flash him my best "trust me, I'm your Captain and I know best" smile. He lets out a small chuckle, as if he sees right through my ploy, and goes right back to what he was doing before. My eyes stay fixated on him, my mind going everywhere and nowhere all at once. Out of all the darkness that had been surrounding me lately, I could at least say there was one bright spot, one sliver of something good. Through everything, I was now closer to Simon as a friend than I had ever been. I'm so entrenched in my own thoughts, I almost don't hear his words, spoken in a voice still drenched in sleep, and I almost have to ask him to repeat it to make sure I heard him correctly, because there's no way he could have just said what I think he did.  
  
But he did. The sheepish tone in his voice, hidden under a breathy laugh, as if he's admitting to something he knows I don't want to hear, yet trying to diffuse it with a joke, gives that fact away.  
  
"You're going to have to start making your own coffee, Vince."  
  
In the back of my mind, I can hear the legs of the barstool scrape over the hardwood floor as I push it back, and I can feel myself moving around to where he is standing. It feels as if I'm suspended in a fog as I lean back against the countertop, inches away from him. I stare straight ahead, and it appears he's having as much trouble meeting my eyes as I am meeting his. I don't want to ask, but I know I have to. My voice is shaky, it doesn't even sound like my own, and certainly not like the voice of someone who makes a profession out of being in charge. "What...where...are you going?"  
  
His breath escapes him in a hard exhale, and he turns to angle his body towards me, but I don't move to face him.  
  
"Back to L.A."  
  
The shock of finally hearing it makes me turn to meet his gaze. His eyes drag over me, searching, for what I'm not sure. He's probably assessing my reaction, but even I'm not sure what that is. His next words are utterly wrapped in hope, his voice elevated with a sense of desire.  
  
"I'm going to start playing again. I'm feeling better, and they say if I start skating now, I should be able to play in the last round of the playoffs."  
  
I can't say anything, and I just stare at him wide-eyed. I guess I knew this day would come eventually, and probably sooner rather than later, but this was coming out of nowhere...wasn't it? I mean...had I been so wrapped up in my own mind I had been completely oblivious to how Simon had been doing? Screw that...why hadn't he said anything before now?  
  
  
I narrow my eyes at him, letting my anger start to show through, but he either doesn't notice or chooses to ignore it. The look of hope in his eyes is infuriating as he continues to tell me all about his plans to abandon me.  
  
"There's a good chance I'm gonna get my name finally etched on the Cup...aren't you happy?"  
  
Those words cut like a knife. How quickly he seems to have forgotten. "So what was last year? A bad chance? No chance in hell?"  
  
A couple rapid blinks is the only response my jab seems to warrant from him. "You know I didn't mean it like that. We can't change the past, none of us can. All we can do is hope to be part of the future."  
  
His voice is soft, much softer than I probably deserve. How could this be so easy for him? How could he be alright with sweeping into my life at just the right moment, and then leaving at the worst possible time? Then again, ever since Brad was gone, my life had been one 'worst possible time' after another.  
  
He expects me to say something, some type of placating explanation as to why I snapped, or maybe even a consoling 'that's okay, Simon, I know what you meant'. I know that's what he wants, and that's exactly why I won't give it to him. The silence builds, it's almost deafening, but I don't break.  
  
  
A tiny flicker of anger flashes in his eyes, a small ember of intense fire, then it's gone in an instant. My own anger builds, I finally get some sort of acknowledgment that any of this is affecting him, and it's gone as soon as it appeared. His composure slides back into place, and his soft tone takes over.  
  
"....But that's not what this is about, is it? You're miserable here, so you want me to be miserable here as well.  _Misère aime la compagnie._ "  
  
I keep my eyes narrowly trained on him, searching his eyes for that same flash of anger I saw earlier. That same calm, serene exterior I used to admire in him was now setting my blood on fire, and my fury only escalated with each passing second spent in silence. My mind calls out to him, wills him to break....  
  
Get angry. Show some damn emotion. Get pissed.  
  
His eyes finally turn dark and stormy, anger flashing within them. He blinks hard, as I can almost hear the snap of his resolve. The next thing to register in my whirling mind is Simon reacting in a way I never thought possible. He throws his hand wildly in the air, his frustration clear as his turns his back to me and starts to walk away. His voice is dripping with more fury than I thought possible from him.  
  
"So don't be miserable here, then. Go back to your wife and kids. Go be happy with them."  
  
I try to bite my tongue to keep the vile insult that had formed in my mind from escaping my lips. My anger must have negated all my efforts, because the words leave me before I even have time to stop them.  
  
"At least I still can."  
  
He stops dead in his tracks, cold as stone. I'm thankful, so thankful, that his back is to me. I'm not sure what would be worse right now; seeing the hurt that must be evident on his face, and knowing I caused it, or having him see me wince, and bite at my lower lip in reaction to the words I wish I could take back. My heart is pounding in my chest, pulse racing, and the air suddenly burns warm in my lungs. The one thing he doesn't know, may never know, is that it probably hurt me to say those words as much as it hurt him to hear them.  
  
His whole posture changes in an instant. I can see every muscle in his back tense, and he rolls his shoulders back, standing a little straighter, a little more on guard then before. I never realized it until now, but it's the same stance I've seen him take countless times before he steps onto the ice, it's his way of mentally preparing himself for the battle. I just never thought I was going to be part of a battle he had to face.  
  
All I can think is how my throat suddenly feels dry, too dry, and my heart is drumming in my ears. My racing thoughts do nothing to help me formulate a response as he slowly turns back to face me, his expression blank. As if all that wasn't enough, every molecule of air seems to leave the room as he slowly stalks towards me. Honestly, I'm not sure if he's going to hit me...or hit me.  
  
I fully expect him to, I mean, after all, I would be lying if I said I didn't deserve it. What I don't expect, however, is for his expression to soften, and compassion to flash in his dark eyes as he reaches out and takes my hand into his. How can he still be this calm? How can he still talk to me in a breathy tone, devoid of any anger?  
  
"You're not ready, fine. I get it. But don't push away the one person that's been there for you."  
  
His intense gaze flicks over my face, searching for an answer I don't have. I don't know what he wants from me here. Maybe he wants me to break down, admit he was right, and take everything back, as if I somehow could. Even if I did, it wouldn't magically change things. He'd still be leaving, I'd still be angry, and he'd still be right.  
  
I'm lashing out because I'm scared of being thrust back into a life I'm not ready to face. If I stay here, I'd be painfully alone, and going back to Tampa isn't a possibility that I can handle, not yet. Going back there, I'll no doubt be reminded of everything I fought so hard to forget here. Brad, our past, and all it's possible falacies will be around every corner, at every turn. His memory is everywhere, from the Stanley Cup banner hanging from the rafters to the number 19 jersey hanging in a locker room stall. The last name on the back of that jersey may have changed, but it was Brad's, and it will always be Brad's, no matter who else pulls it on.  
  
His thumb trails over the top of my hand, snapping my thoughts back to reality. My mind is still reeling when I hear the words I never expected.  
  
"Come with me, back to California."  
  
His words were welcoming, his tone soft, but my mind doesn't pay attention to what he said, or how he said it. All my mind knows is that he had just delivered me the greatest insult.  
  
"I don't need your pity... _mon ami_." The way I hiss the last two words make them sound more like a sarcastic insult than a term of affection, and that's exactly the way I intended it. I tear my hand from his grip, and shoot my eyes to the floor. I can't bear to see the pained shock on his face. The tension hangs in the air like a thick velvet curtain between us, causing the seconds to seemingly tick off like hours. I guess even Simon has his breaking point, and it's clear he's reached it as he turns on his heel and storms off.  
  
I can still feel his touch on my skin, warm where his fingers slid over the palm of my hand, when I hear the door to the guest bedroom slam shut.  
  
  


                                                                                             -X-

  
I think I must have stood in the kitchen for a good five minutes after Simon stormed off, the shock still coursing through my system. I finally managed to get my body moving, it seemingly taking an eternity for my limbs to abide by my mind's wishes. As I shuffled towards the guest room, head down in defeat, I knew I couldn't just let him leave with things the way they are now. I knew I had to do something, if only make a meager attempt at an apology. We had been friends far too long to let everything slip away, and I couldn't let my hissed words of anger be my last words ever spoken to him.  
  
I'm not sure if he's unaware of me standing here, casually leaning against the door frame like it's the most natural thing in the world, watching him pack, or if he's just choosing to ignore me. Surely he heard as I slowly crept the door open, so that must mean he's making a conscious effort not to acknowledge me. Every article of clothing I see him pack away makes my heart beat just a little harder and faster. It can't end like this, I can't let it. I try and summon all the strength I possess to keep my voice from shaking or wavering as I break the silence.  
  
"I'm sorry, those things I said...I..."  
  
He must be able to tell I'm having a hard time putting my thoughts into words, and he interrupts me, but I have a feeling it's more out of anger and impatience than it is a desire to put an end to my awkward stammering.  
  
"What do you want, Vincent?"  
  
Those words hit me, and it's like I'm transported back into the past. Brad had uttered those exact words to me, in much the same tone, after a fight we had over him going to play in New York instead of Tampa. That seemed like so long ago now, and back then I knew what I wanted; for him to stay with me. Now, I have no answer. What do I want?  
  
I look at Simon, and for a second, I don't see him packing his things to go back to California. Instead, what I see is Brad, making a decision I now know would send him rushing towards his fate on a late, rainy night in New York. I had tried to tell Brad to stay, maybe even begged, but it still wasn't enough. Would making my desires known be enough this time? Was it even what I wanted, for him to stay, even at the cost of his dream?  
  
  
I try to search my mind for all the possible answers as I stand leaning against the door jamb, the sharp wooden edge digging into my spine. As I quietly watch him pack what little belongings he had accumulated during his stay, I'm at a loss for words. There's so many things I want to say, so many things I want to know, but only one thing I can bring myself to ask.  
  
"That night...when we were picking up the photos...you wanted to kiss me. I could see it. Why didn't you?"  
  
For a little while, I'm not even sure he heard me. He just continues neatly folding his clothes and stuffing them in the nylon duffle. After what seems like an eternity, he looks up, eyes flashing with hot white intensity. I'm struck by the unbridled emotion being carried in the dark pool of Simon's eyes. He's usually so reserved, so guarded. Not now.  
  
  
The same embers of fire I saw flashing in his eyes earlier are now burning out of control, except this was a entirely different kind of heat. He isn't holding back an intense fury, not this time. He's calculating his odds, deciding if he should take the chance, and planning his next move. He's sizing up his prey, going after what he wants, and not making a single attempt to hide it.  
  
My breath hitches in my chest as he moves towards me with all the intent and purpose of a man with something to prove and nothing to lose. I swallow hard as he stalks towards me, time seemingly slowing to a crawl. His gaze remains fixated on me as he rests his hand on the door frame by my head, leaning against it and hovering his face inches from mine. Finally, he leans a little closer to give me my answer, breathed in a husky whisper.  
  
"Because it's not what you needed then. It's not what I needed. I didn't need to share you with a memory."  
  
As he stands facing me, our noses almost touching, his eyes stare into my soul with a look that's assessing, and a little challenging. It's like he's brought us to the brink, but he's waiting for me to be the one to push us over the edge. The impulse hits me, and it's like every high, every thrill in my life is coursing through my veins. I reach up and wrap my hand around the back of his neck, pulling him close. The moment is swirling around me, and the next thing I feel is his soft lips pressed to mine.  
  
My eyes slide closed as I relish in the feeling of his lips on mine, his hand sliding up my body until his fingers are weaving through my hair. Was this all because of me? Huh. I guess it is. I guess I initiated this.  
  
Not one shred of regret finds me as I slowly pull away from him. I search his eyes, his dark, beautiful eyes, and find no regret lingering in him either. I feel a small smile play on my lips, and a voice escapes me I almost don't recognize as my own.  
  
"That...was what I needed."  
  
A smile creeps to his lips, but there's something else hiding underneath it; the unmistakable twinge of uncertainty. His confidence falters, and the man that I saw just seconds earlier, the one that seemed so sure this was what we both needed, is no longer there. I wonder how much of the doubt is on his own part, and how much of it is some sort of defensive need to protect me. He finally puts a voice to his thoughts, and he manages to sound a little more questioning than scared.  
  
"How can you be so sure?"  
  
Maybe as recently as a few moments ago, I wasn't so sure. Maybe even as I was pressing my lips to his, I was wondering if this was the best thing for the both of us. However, as soon as I pulled away and looked into his eyes, I knew exactly what it was I needed, and it was so much more than a kiss. I need him, in so many ways, but there's something else just below my new found certainty. There's a knowledge eating at the corners of my mind; I'm not supposed to need Simon, or even want him. My life wasn't supposed to play out like this, one heartbreaking moment after another, loss compounded by loss.  
  
As I look into Simon's dark eyes, searching for an answer in the fire of his intense stare, it makes me realize everything I had been hiding from. I had been so busy living in a past I thought was destroyed, and I didn't even see the present. I didn't see what was right in front of me, what was all around me. I had spent far too much time living in the world of long ago, as if that action alone could somehow change the past. Now I know the past can not be changed, edited, forgotten, or erased. It can only be accepted.  
  
  
I feel Simon's hands slide over my skin, down my arms until his fingers are gently wrapped around my wrists. His very touch sends shivers through my body, and the answer to his question has never been more clear.  
  
 _"Le coeur a ses raisons."_  
  
Those words, breathed almost in a whisper, were all I needed to say, all I could say. And apparently, it was all he needed to hear. His grip on my wrists tightens, and I can't help but suck in a sharp breath as he hauls both my wrists over my head, pinning them against the door frame. It's a movement that screams with urgency, and want, but there's also a whisper of softness to the touch. He takes both my wrists in one hand, letting the free hand fall away, and starts lightly trailing his fingers down my arm. The look in Simon's eyes make it seem like he's already going over what's to come in his mind, his gaze dragging over me as his fingers glide down my arm, over my shoulder, and deliciously slow across my collarbone. His fingers come to rest on the top button of my flannel shirt, his fingers brushing over the hollow of my throat as he works the button free.  
  
Every hair on my body is standing on end as the cool air pouring from the ceiling vent sweeps across my skin, and Simon's lips feel like fire licking at my chilled skin as he presses kisses to my throat, biting gently as he continues to fumble with the small plastic button. I can feel his frustration building, and part of me wishes he would just abandon his attempts to take things slowly, and rip my shirt open, sending every button scattering to the floor. My heart is beating so hard, I'm almost sure he can feel it pounding against his fingers as he continues to work each button free before moving on to the next. The last button is freed from it's spot, and a chill works through my core as the cool air hits my bare chest.  
  
Simon pulls away slightly, and his grip on my wrists suddenly grows slack as he moves his hands to my shoulders, bunching his fingers around the soft fabric of my shirt. My arms fall to my sides as he slowly slides the shirt off my shoulders and down my body, letting it pool on the floor.  
  
As absolutely enthralled as I had been in watching every emotion play in his eyes, it seems now is his turn to stare transfixed into mine. I can only imagine what he must be seeing in the depths of my eyes as he loops his fingers around my right wrist and brings it up to his lips, gently kissing at the sensitive skin without ever breaking his burning gaze from mine. What kind of fire does he see burning in my eyes as he moves his lips further and further up my arm, pausing every few seconds to lock his gaze onto mine, until he's gently biting at my shoulder?  
  
The whole thing causes me to let out a heavy breath, one that I didn't even realize I had been holding, and slide down the door frame, just a little. He murmurs against my skin, and I feel his words more than hear them.  
  
"You want me to stop?"  
  
He doesn't wait for my answer, only moves to trail his lips down my bare chest. As his wandering path leads down my body, first letting his lips move over every muscle of my chest and stomach, then his fingers, it's becoming increasingly harder to think, but I know the last thing I want is for him to stop. He's on his knees now, crushing them into the soft carpet, and alternating between kissing and laying gentle bites at the sensitive skin above the waist of my flannel pajama pants. As I weave my fingers through his dark strands, I swallow hard around the lump in my throat, my voice thick as I murmur my response. " _You_  don't want you to stop."  
  
He abruptly stops what he's doing, and looks up at me with shock playing on his features, like I had gone mad for even suggesting he was the only one that wanted this, and that he would continue despite my wishes. My uttered words were clearly misconstrued. Of course I know he wouldn't force something upon me but...did he really think I didn't want him? Some of his uncertainty bleeds over to me, and my mind starts to race. Do I want him to stop, do I really want him like I thought I had? I mean...would I have even allowed things to go this far if I didn't?  
  
I feel Simon's hands wrap around my arms, and he pulls himself up to face me. My breath catches as I find myself once again inches away from his thoughtful stare. His eyebrows are furrowed together in a look of concern, and his eyes are alight with compassion.  
  
"But I will stop, if that's what you want. I don't want anything you don't," Simon says in a hushed tone. It may have sounded like a statement, but we both knew it was a question. Simon was asking if this was really what I wanted, before it was too late to turn back. He looks at me across the suddenly all too quiet space, waiting for an answer with his dark eyes burning full of questions. There really seems to be no right answer here. This wasn't a game of hockey with the rules laid out for me in black and white; don't precede the puck over the blue line, don't have more than six men on the ice at any given time. Don't kiss one of your best friends with the memory of someone else still fresh in your mind.  
  
Isn't that really what I've been doing all along, though? Haven't I always kissed Brad with Caroline still on my mind, or kissed my wife while the image of Brad was still burned in my memory?  
  
I had already given away pieces of my heart to two different people, was there enough left for a third? Was that even where this is going, what this will become if I don't walk away now, or is this something less? Is something less even possible for Simon and I, after all we've been through together?  
  
Anything less than having each other completely would feel like a step backwards, and it's not a step I'm willing to take.  
  
It's clear Simon had been waiting for me to be the one to send us rushing towards the point of no return, and I oblige him by firmly placing both hands on his shoulders and pushing him back towards the bed until the backs of his knees hit the frame. If that action alone had us just teetering on the edge, then we are sure to fall right over as I push him down into a sitting position on the bed. The 'point of no return' is now merely a distant speck in our rearview mirror as he grabs onto my forearms and pulls me down on top of him, covering my mouth with a bruising kiss. Simon snakes his hands between our bodies as I lay on top of him, and he starts to fumble with the tie string of my pants, only to find the knot nearly impossible. I take his hands into mine and hurriedly break away from the kiss, straddling his hips and pulling us both into a sitting position. The adrenaline is pumping through my veins as I reach under the hem of his shirt and lift it over his head, and I can't help but notice the way he trembles as my fingers brush over his chest. With his shirt swiftly thrown to the floor, I pull him towards me to resume our fevered kiss, the contact of his now bare chest on mine is exhilarating in the best way possible. Simon breaks the kiss, and I swear the room is spinning as his hands grip my shoulders, and he's rolling us until I'm on my back, staring up into his dark eyes as he pins me to the mattress. He moves down the bed in one fluid motion to kneel by my feet, his eyes never leaving mine.  
  
Simon dips his fingers below the waistband of my flannel pants and gently tugs, sending the fabric sliding past my hips and down my legs before he carelessly throws them on the floor. A small smile plays across his face as he sees I'm wearing nothing else underneath, but it quickly vanishes, only to be replaced with a look of utter adoration. He's looking at me like I'm everything he's ever wanted, but never thought he could have. His fingers trail up my leg, just barely making contact, like he's scared to touch me, for fear of finding out I'm not really here, laying in front on him. I finally grab his hand, and pull him to within inches of my face, whispering with my gaze burning into his. The words are for myself as much as they are for him.  
  
"This is real."  
  
He traces his fingers along my jawline, and the way Simon's fingers ghost over my skin, it's like he's trying to banish the ghosts of the past. I run my fingers down his sides until I'm gently tugging at the elastic band of his pants, signaling my wants. Simon's lips cover mine again as he moves to shed himself of his pants and boxers, first one leg, then the other, all without ever breaking the kiss.  
  
He pulls away and hovers his lips above mine, whispering in a tone low and heavy. "Last chance to call this off."  
  
"You need to learn to take 'yes' for an answer. I want this."  
  
After my muttered 'I want this', Simon wastes no time in sliding down my body, his hot mouth leaving a wet trail down my torso as he goes. My hips jump slightly as Simon's lips ghost over my hipbones. I swear I forget my name when I feel Simon's lips envelop me in the wet heat of his mouth, and all I can do is throw my head back, and let out a deep moan as I clutch at the sheets, fingers intertwined with the soft fabric. His fingers trail over the inside of my thigh, After what seems like hours spent listening to nothing but my own ragged breathing, my eyes finally creep open. The waves of sensations coursing through my body make me want to do nothing but close my eyes and let go. As absolutely certain as I am that I could spend my whole life like this, I don't want to be shrouded in darkness, with my eyes closed as everything happens around me. I can't miss one second, I need to watch the entire scene play out before me. I need to watch Simon's every breath, and every movement of his lips as they slide down my rigid flesh. I reach down to rake my fingers lightly through his hair, and move my eyes down my own body to where he's laying casually between my legs. My eyes slowly focus, and he looks up at me, his lips curled into a knowing smile around me. His voice hums low, sending a shiver through my whole body.  
  
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you like to watch,  _non?_ "  
  
I can't trust myself to speak, but I have a feeling he wasn't looking for a real answer anyways. Simon slowly pulls away, leaving my skin tingling where his lips just were. The kisses trail up my body again, creeping as his soft lips skate over my skin. I'm breathless with every movement he makes, and struck speechless by the time he's hovering his lips right above mine. I can't seem to get enough air of my own, and it feels like I have to steal his too as it rushes past his lips. He dips his head down for another fiery kiss, even biting at my lower lip, and I whimper into his mouth at the delicious feeling of his teeth on my skin. Seconds later, he pulls away to replace his lips with his index finger, running it slowly over my bottom lip. A moan escapes me, and I draw his finger into my mouth with a sucking pull. The salty-sweet taste of his skin dances on my tongue. The bed shifts as he sits up, straddling my waist with his knees. He slides his index finger from my mouth, and trails it down his body to the pristine skin of his ass. I watch, absolutely mesmerized, as his fingers skirt the edges of his heated opening.  
  
His eyes slam shut and he takes in a sharp breath as he slides his fingers in, slowly at first, until his eyes finally flutter open again and I'm staring into the storm playing out within them. The pulling and flexing of every muscle in his arm is captivating as he continues to work himself open. His dark eyes don't break from mine as he leans down and whispers against my lips.  
  
 _"Comme ça?"_  
  
His voice, the very essence of it, goes straight to the core of my being, and I almost lose all self control.  
  
"I know what I'd like more," I say in a voice thick with lust, and slide my hand to his hip as he withdraws his fingers.  _"S'il te plaît_ , Simon."  
  
I can't seem to catch my breath as Simon's moves to position himself on top of me, it's all so surreal. Having Simon slide down onto me, slowly, diligently, is like being slowly thrust into a lucid dream, the kind where you fight to keep control despite desperately wanting to lose it. I can't fight it, and I push myself deeper. I need to be fully engulfed in the dream. A low, heavy moan pushes past Simon's lips, and it's a sound that's repeated with each slowly paced thrust. The moans sometimes turn into words, mumbled in French, and it's one of the most beautiful things I have ever heard.  
  
I graze my teeth over the sensitive skin where Simon's neck and shoulder meet, earning me a muffled whimper. His hands are warm against my sides, adding to the sensations that are threatening to overtake me. It's all becoming too much, but I can't let go, I can't let myself fall over that exquisite edge.  
  
As easy as it would be, not giving into the sweet release was the only thing keeping me tied to Brad.Those moments, the moments when everything you have with someone culminates in a captivating explosion, was the only thing I still shared with Brad and no other man.  
  
I bite at my lower lip, nearly bite it in two, it feels, the pain reminding me I need to hold on, I need hold onto that one last piece.The sensation of his soft lips brushing over my skin as he whispers against my ear is dizzying, maddening. It's so easy to get lost in his breathy words and his hushed tone.  
  
"You have to let go, Vince. You have to let go of him."  
  
His voice slides over me, low and rich, and his words echo in my mind.  
  
 _You have to let go, Vince. You have to let go of him._  
  
I have to let go.  
  
His voice winds down in my consciousness, until it slowly fades, like a record being played off in the distance.  
  
 _You have to let go, Vince_  
  
There's another voice, Brad's voice, breaking through my haze, echoing words spoken to me not that long ago, and it takes everything I have not to fall apart.  
  
 _Tell me you love me, Vin. I need to know you forgive me for not coming back there._  
  
I need to let go. I can't let go. I can't let go of him.  
  
 _Tell me you love me, Vin_.   
  
I love you, Brad.  
  
Another intense wave of sensations washes over me, like waves of the ocean crashing over the shoreline, and I can't fight it any longer. I can't hold on.  
  
 _I need to know you forgive me._  
  
I can't-  
  
Can't-  
  
I forgive you, Brad. I forgive everything.  
  
Everything I had been holding back, holding onto, vanishes with those words. The chains holding me break, and the entire world ceases to be. All I know is Simon's lips hovering above mine, his breath sweeping over my skin, the taste of his mouth, and the way he feels around me. Everything blurs, pulses, and...  
  
  
My eyes slam shut, and I'm thrust into a world of darkness, bright white streaks dancing across my vision. My own breathing, harsh and roaring in my ears, is the only evidence there's any air left in my lungs. The heat...oh, God, the heat...seems to radiate from my core, and just when I think I might burn alive, I'm hit with an intense chill as all my muscles tense. Somewhere in the corners of my mind, I can hear Simon's charged voice, and feel his lips whispering against my overheated skin as the release shudders through every part of my body.  
  
 _"Se sent si bon..."_  
  
When my eyes finally flutter open and focus, I see Simon hovering over me, the light streaming in from the window bathing him in an ethereal glow. Seeing him as he runs his hand over his rigid flesh, his fingers brushing over my stomach with each movement, and his eyes burning into mine is almost enough to make me forget I'd just reached my peak, and I'm almost sure I could again on that sight alone.  
  
His nails dig into my shoulder, and he pushes back slightly, straightening up and forcing me deeper. The rise and fall of his chest, his ragged breath escaping him in short bursts through slightly parted lips, his fluid movements...it's enough to make me dizzy all over again. The adrenaline is still coursing through my veins as Simon slams his eyes shut and falls towards me, his teeth grazing over my collarbone. His low, guttural groans fill my ear, and I feel every muscle in his body tense as the warmth spills over my stomach.  
  
I suck in a shaky breath as Simon collapses into my arms, and I can feel his heart still pounding in his chest as he lays on top of me, sated and slick with sweat. I trail my fingers up and down his spine as the shivers work through his body. The weight of Simon's body over me, and his raspy breathing in my ear as he tries to catch his breath is bringing me a comfort I haven't known in a long time.  
  


                                                                                                 -X-

  
Simon had laid in my embrace for what seemed like an eternity, but one I was happy to spend, before he finally moved to lay beside me, his face buried in the back of my neck and his right leg thrown over mine.  
  
The light that had been streaming through the windows when I first lay on the bed, staring up at Simon, was now retreating, leaving behind a purple-pink hue filtering in through the curtains. The shallow breathing coming from where Simon lay had fooled me into believing he was asleep, but I was proved wrong when his voice broke through the silence.  
  
"I wasn't asking you to come with me out of pity."  
  
Those words, spoken this morning, seem like a lifetime ago now. In a way, I guess they were. This morning I was living a completely different life, one where I was still trapped under water, trying to fight my way to the surface.  
  
I trail my fingers along the crumpled bed sheets, my mind finally clear. "I know that now. But I think...I think I'm ready to go home."  
  
I don't know if the shivers that hit my body are from hearing those words, finally said out loud in my own voice, or from the feeling of Simon's touch trailing lightly up and down my arm. His voice comes from behind me, and it's filled with surprised optimism. "Yeah?"  
  
"We can't change the past, none of us can. All we can do is hope to be part of the future." I hear a light chuckle escape Simon as he realizes I'm using his own words against him, and it's a breathy laugh that dies down almost instantly, leaving silence hanging in the air once again.  
  
The only sound I hear now is that of the rain beating against the windows, and it's soothing, calming, just like every nuance of the man laying next to me. My thoughts should be a torrid mess. Tomorrow, Simon will be gone, and I have no idea when I'll see him again. I don't know what my future holds, or if I'll ever be able to reclaim my past.  
  
However, for the first time in a long time, everything feels all right, because there is one thing I am certain of. I'm finally swimming home. I've broken through the surface, and come up for air.


End file.
